The island wasn't very popular. It had resources but not people, and so it never thrived beyond a handful of settlements. Life here was simple, almost too quiet. As the sun dipped, silence took over. By the time Yuhan stepped out of the bar, he was sober. The night had already claimed the island.
Everything was silent. Only darkness stretched before him. The narrow streets were deserted, lanterns flickering faintly against the sea breeze. Wooden shutters were bolted tight, as if the whole town had gone into hiding. Even the waves lapping against the shore sounded distant, swallowed by the weight of the night.
Yuhan adjusted the sword on his back. His boots clicked against the cobblestone, the only sound breaking the stillness. A part of him welcomed the silence, it was the kind of peace a warrior rarely found. But another part of him couldn't shake the stranger's words.
You can't just evade me.
Yuhan stopped walking. For a moment, he thought he heard footsteps in the dark. But when he turned, the street was empty, the shadows stretching endlessly. He shook his head and moved on. The night was heavy, but he would rest well enough. Tomorrow would bring its own storms.
And then, again, he heard it, "You can't just evade me."
At first Yuhan thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, the words branded into memory by drink and fatigue. But when the voice echoed once more, clear and sharp against the silence, he knew it was real.
From the far end of the street, a figure emerged. At first Yuhan couldn't recognize him, the form swallowed by shadow. But as the figure stepped closer, the outline sharpened—the dark cloak, the quiet confidence, the same unsettling calm.
The stranger. Yuhan's hand instinctively brushed against the hilt of his sword. He wanted to call out, but the thought stopped him cold. I never asked his name.
The man's face came into view, more mischievous now, lips curled into a knowing smile. His eyes glimmered with something sharp—something that felt less like curiosity and more like inevitability.
"You drink well," the stranger said, voice casual, almost mocking. "But you wake too slow."
Yuhan tensed, the night air suddenly heavier. "What do you want?"
The stranger tilted his head, amused, as though the question itself was naïve. "Shhh," he whispered, stepping front from the dark. "The night is still very young."
Yuhan stood frozen, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. For a breath he was stunned, but just as quickly he regained his composure. His lips curled into a grin, and a low laugh escaped his throat.
"Yuhan laughs in the face of monsters," he said boldly, eyes locked on the cloaked figure. "So tell me, what are you supposed to be?"
The stranger's smile widened, but it carried no warmth. He slowly shook his head, as though amused by a child's naivety.
"Nice," the stranger said softly. "Very nice. That's what I'd expect from a red marker holder. You have pride… and sharp teeth." He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a chilling calm. "I wanted to tell you who I am. But perhaps it's unnecessary."
A silence stretched, broken only by the whispering wind that swept the empty street. The stranger's eyes gleamed under the hood as he finally spoke again.
"You may imagine me as your death."
Yuhan's laughter faded, his hand tightening over the hilt of his sword. His hunter's instincts screamed at him, this wasn't just bravado. There was weight in those words, an intent that clawed at his gut.
And then—silence. The island night returned to stillness, leaving only Yuhan standing alone in the empty street. He drew his blade halfway, the cold steel catching the faint moonlight, but there was nothing left to cut.
Yuhan exhaled slowly, forcing his nerves into steadiness. "If you're death…" he muttered under his breath, "then I'll make sure to slay death itself."
The stranger's smile never faded as his hand slipped beneath the cloak. With a faint clink of metal, he drew his weapon into the dim light. What Yuhan had once dismissed as a sickle revealed itself in full, its true form unmistakable. A kusarigama.
The curved blade gleamed wickedly, polished to a predatory shine, while the long iron chain coiled and uncoiled like a living serpent in his grip. The air itself seemed to tighten as the weapon swayed lazily, its reach easily enough to strike Yuhan from where he stood.
Yuhan's eyes narrowed. Instinct roared within him, and in one fluid motion he leapt several steps back, hand finding the hilt of his greatsword. The edge of his lips pulled into a half-smirk.
"So it really was a kusarigama," he muttered, his voice steady but his body taut as a drawn bow.
The stranger twirled the chain once, the blade at the end cutting a faint whistle through the silence. His gaze never wavered.
"Sharp eyes," he said softly. "Most don't live long enough to recognize it."
Yuhan lifted his sword, leveling it toward the cloaked figure. "Then you're in luck. I'm not 'most.'"
The kusarigama spun faster now, the chain rattling against the stone as sparks danced in the dark. The stranger's presence seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on the deserted street.
"Show me, Red Marker," he whispered. "Show me if your blade can keep up with death's chain."
The chain lashed out.
It came like lightning, the kusarigama's curved blade slicing through the air with a shriek. Yuhan barely raised his greatsword in time, the chain wrapped around the steel, sparks erupting as the two weapons screamed against each other. The impact rattled his arms, and for a brief moment Yuhan realized just how heavy that "whistle" had been.
The stranger yanked the chain back with frightening precision, forcing Yuhan's guard open, and then the blade of the kusarigama swept low, aiming for his legs. Yuhan kicked off the ground, rolling to the side, his boots crushing gravel. He rose with a growl, swinging his massive sword in a wide arc.
The stranger didn't dodge. He flowed. The kusarigama spun around him, chain coiling and uncoiling, redirecting Yuhan's strike with a pull that felt impossible. The greatsword cut through the air, heavy and furious, but always just shy of landing.
"Too slow," the stranger whispered, his voice carrying in the silence like a curse.
A pulse of ambience radiated from him, the air itself warping with killing intent. Yuhan's skin prickled. His instincts screamed danger louder than any battlefield ever had. The ambience was suffocating, not just dark but endless, like staring into the abyss itself.
But Yuhan roared back, his own ambience igniting crimson around him, his blood pumping fire through his veins. He lunged forward, sword blazing with power, carving the ground as it swung.
The chain tightened again, snapping forward, and this time the kusarigama's blade struck. It scraped across Yuhan's shoulder, tearing flesh and drawing blood. The pain was sharp, but Yuhan's grin only widened.
"Is that it?" he growled. "You'll need more than scratches to bring me down!"
The stranger tilted his head, eyes glinting beneath the hood. "You're still standing. That's better than most. But tell me, how long can you stand against death itself?"
The chain whipped again, faster, sharper, more vicious until it felt like a storm of steel was closing in on Yuhan. The storm of steel closed in.
Yuhan fought with everything he had, his crimson ambience blazing like wildfire, his greatsword roaring through the night like a thunderclap. Each swing shook the ground, splitting stone, tearing through air, sparks flying as steel clashed against chain.
But the kusarigama was relentless. The chain danced like a serpent, winding around his blade, tripping his footing, striking from impossible angles. Each strike cut deeper, his arms, his side, his back. Blood ran down his body, dripping onto the dirt.
Still, Yuhan laughed. A guttural, defiant laugh. "Is this it? Death? Hah! I thought it would take an Elder to put me down!"
The stranger's eyes narrowed. The chain lashed out one last time, piercing clean through Yuhan's chest. The curved blade buried deep, stealing his breath in a sudden rush of pain. His greatsword slipped from his grip, crashing onto the ground beside him.
Yuhan staggered, his knees buckling, but his hand still gripped the chain, holding it away from his throat. He spat blood and forced a grin, even as his body trembled.
"You know…" he rasped, voice cracking. "I dreamed… to stand among the Elders one day. To show them… to show everyone… that hunters outside the academy aren't trash. That we can be more. That… I could be more."
His vision blurred, the night spinning around him. The stranger's face was unreadable, no pity, no anger, just a void.
"Guess…" Yuhan coughed, more blood spilling down his chin, "guess I won't get there."
He looked up at the stranger one last time, eyes burning. "But remember this. A man doesn't need to be an Elder… to carve his name in history."
With that, the chain was pulled free, and Yuhan collapsed to the ground, blood soaking into the dirt. His hand reached out weakly for his sword, fingers brushing the hilt—but never grasped it. His chest stilled. His crimson ambience flickered once, then vanished into the night.
The stranger stood silently over Yuhan's fallen body, the chain of his kusarigama dripping red. The night was still, save for the faint whistle of the wind through the trees.
Then, from the darkness behind him, two gleaming eyes emerged. A wolf - huge, shadow-black, its fur swallowing the faint light of the moon. Its steps were noiseless, its breath heavy, carrying a primal chill.
The beast approached the corpse, lowering its head. Yuhan's lifeless hand still brushed against the hilt of his sword. The wolf sniffed once, then began to lick away the blood, its fangs flashing as if erasing all trace of the battle.
The stranger knelt, resting a hand on the wolf's head. "Good," he whispered, voice soft but sharp like glass. "No one needs to know he was here."
The wolf growled low, then began dragging Yuhan's body into the shadows. It worked with eerie precision covering the bloodstains, scattering dirt, erasing the story of Yuhan's final stand until the clearing looked almost untouched.
When the work was done, the stranger stood tall again, his kusarigama coiling back beneath his cloak like it had never been drawn. The wolf padded to his side, silent as death itself.
The man glanced once more at the place where Yuhan had fallen, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Dreams are for the living," he muttered. "And they… will not escape me."
Together, cloaked in silence, man and wolf melted back into the night—swallowed whole by shadow, leaving nothing behind but mystery.